Pedro neighs wildly

In the dusty wind

Many a beefy rider he endured like a friend

Whoever was in the saddle

It was cradle and deathbed

For newborn dead friends

We never had

In conversation with my Pedro here we go!

I will ride bloodless steeds until we are mowed down

So I am talking to the crow

On the path below

Stumbling ohoh towards the Lord

Riding on the last of the meager herd

Trampling stumbling and mourning through dried grass croaking howls in the wind

Across the final pass

On a thirsty mud like me on strange worldly paths

In conversation with my Pedro here we go

I will ride bloodless steeds until we are mowed down

I am talking to the crow

On the path below

Stumbling Ohoh towards the Lord

Dark sky, neighing wind

Wild and desolate steppe

In the distance a warming flicker of burning men

Circling laughing crow with empty eyes. And a golden glow on dark pools of blood in the

Sand

In conversation with my Pedro here we go

I will ride bloodless steeds until we are mowed down

I am talking to the crow

On the path below

Stumbling ohoh towards the Lord

Stumbling oh towards the Lord